


i don't mean to sound so stupid (but i just do when i'm around you)

by TheGirlWithTheGlasses



Category: Derry Girls (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Michelle is a good bro to both Erin and James, Orla accidentally pulls David Donnelly and doesn't even know she's doing it, Post-Season/Series 02, Sickfic, Tbh stan Sister Michael and Granda Joe for clear skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:20:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29223105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGirlWithTheGlasses/pseuds/TheGirlWithTheGlasses
Summary: or, a series of revelations Erin has in the two weeks after her tonsillectomy(alternately, Michelle is a very good friend, Orla knows a lot more than she lets on, Clare cares a lot and would like to discuss Moby Dick with Erin in the near future, James is a puddle but what else is new, and Erin is tired)(alternately, everybody in Derry knows James fancies Erin)(except Erin, but she'll know soon enough)
Relationships: Clare Devlin/Michelle Mallon, David Donnelly/Orla McCool, James Maguire/Erin Quinn
Comments: 28
Kudos: 68





	i don't mean to sound so stupid (but i just do when i'm around you)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the result of me getting way too emotional over Derry Girls on Netflix, specifically the S2 finale. Here is this idea that got its way into my head and stayed there for several weeks. It's so sweet it'll give you a cavity. Enjoy. (Sincerest apologies for any dialectal or medical mistakes-I tried my best.)  
> Title is from Moonlight by Lostboycrow, would highly recommend. It is a very James song.

The first thing Michelle does when she walks into Erin’s hospital room is make a very dumb and slightly disrespectful face at her. Then, and only then, does she absolutely lose her shit.

“I can’t, you look like a fecking gopher,” Michelle laughs, pointing at her swollen throat. 

Erin tries to wheeze out a response. She immediately pays for it, a strong wave of pain wracking her body. Orla climbs up next to her and grins, the familiar slightly vacant look in her eyes back again. 

“No trying to talk, or they have to leave,” Ma Mary orders from outside, where she’s been interrogating the doctor for almost a full twenty minutes. “Girls. You have my full permission to swat her if she tries.”

“With pleasure,” Michelle grins, coming closer and tossing herself onto the bed too. “Budge up, Orla, I want to see our pathetic little patient.”

Erin glares further. She crosses her arms across her chest firmly and almost dislodges her IV, quickly returning her left arm to the flat, still position it’s been in for almost a full day. 

Clare is next to come in, carrying a few bags and Orla’s coat. “Oh, Erin,” she says. “You look right awful.”

Again missing the ability to speak, she firmly brandishes her middle finger at Clare and rolls her eyes as hard as she can. Then she realizes there’s someone still missing. Tapping Michelle’s shoulder, she mimes confusion and looks around the room.

“What? Where’s-oh. The eejit’s outside. He’s talking to your Ma. Like, an actual conversation. Can you believe that? He’s such a fecking dick.”

Directly after she finishes her sentence, James, doing that anxious hovering thing he does all the time, stumbles through the door. 

“Hi.”

Erin waves at him absentmindedly. Clare, unpacking an unbelievable amount of stuff, comes to sit next to Michelle on the bed. 

“I brought Moby Dick and The Iliad, and a couple copies of  _ Time _ , for you to read. You know, since you have all this time now. Because you had to have someone cut into your throat and take something out. Because you were boking blood.”

“Yes, Clare, we’re all aware of what happened,” Michelle shoots, aiming a kick in her general direction. 

(Essentially, what had happened was Erin alarming everyone for several days with her barking cough and scratchy voice before her  scheduled tonsil removal. It was fine. Everyone is overreacting, as is the norm, and should really calm down.)

“I seem to recall you being fairly worried,” James says.

“We all were, dicko,” she snaps. “Especially-”

“Okay, that’s enough, Michelle,” he cuts her off.

Erin stares quizzically at them, confused. Not talking makes communication very hard.

“We’re buzzing you’re all right, Erin,” Clare continues. “You gave us quite a scare.”

She leans over to grab the legal pad she’s been writing stuff on for the doctor and scrawls “NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL”. 

“Not that big of a deal? No, it was a very big deal, Erin! It may well be a common surgery but-”

“Clare, if you’ve finished with the cack attack quite yet, I want to ask questions about the doctor. Is he young?”

“I’M ALL RIGHT”, she writes. “TOO OLD FOR YOU.”

“Damn,” Michelle curses. 

“It smells odd in here,” Orla mumbles from where she’s buried her head in Erin’s shoulder. Erin is allowing it solely because she is warm. Michelle clambers up to rest on her legs, Clare perches on her left, and James, who’s been sort of hovering near the door, shuffles over to take the spot on her right. Erin studiously keeps her left arm still.

“You do look a bit like a gopher,” Clare whispers. 

“Dick,” Erin whispers raspily, shoving at her. 

“OUT!,” Ma Mary roars, sticking her head into the room and pointing directly at all of them. 

***

The next morning, predictably, brings an intense amount of chaos that isn’t doing wonders for the throbbing migraine that’s attached itself to Erin’s head. Ma Mary stalks around the kitchen, rattling pots and pans. Anna lets out several ear-piercing screeches before erupting in laughter. Da and Granda Joe are arguing over the news yet again. Orla hikes her foot up onto her chair and absentmindedly sings to herself. She takes a begrudging sip of the disgusting ‘nutrition shake’ that’s replaced all food for the time being. Everything hurts and she is very tired.

“Medicine for you,” Ma Mary shoves a napkin with pills on it at her. “Go on and take it before the rest of them show up.”

Taking a deep breath, Erin snags the glass of water waiting next to it and begins the arduous task of trying to force solids down her throat. Orla watches in fascination at the process, which she thinks probably looks like a snake from those old cartoons, when it tries to eat something way bigger than itself. Just as she’s finished, the door swings open and Clare bursts in, adding to the chaos. 

“Orla!,” she shouts, elbowing her way past Aunt Sarah, who is tottering around in her slippers and bathrobe. “What did you get on the second problem on the maths assignment? I swear, if I miss even one I’m going to lose it because my grades will drop practically into the subbasement-oh, god. I’m sorry Erin.”

Erin shrugs. She knows not to try and plug her ears because the noise is worse after. 

“It’s just this one.” Clare thrusts the sheet of paper in front of Orla, throwing her backpack on the floor and sinking into a chair. All three of the noises send a pulse of pain through her head.

Humming, Orla looks over the paper. Her eyes look almost glazed over, as is the norm. “No idea.” 

Anna screeches. “Help your wife, for godsakes, Gerry!,” Granda Joe shouts. 

Ma Mary gasps suddenly. “You’ll be late! Everyone get on with it!” Orla shoves a piece of toast in her mouth and grabs Clare’s hand. Da is putting on his hat and coat. The flurry of activity is dizzying.

The kitchen empties out as fast as it had filled. Now thoroughly depressed, Erin slumps in her chair and stares up at the ceiling.

“I could be wrong, but I think this might be for you.” Ma Mary plunks a brown-wrapped rectangular package down in front of her.

_ Erin, _ reads the scrawl across the paper. Confused, she tears it off to find a small chalkboard and a pack of chalk. Another jolt of excitement runs through her. Communication. 

_ Ice? _ , she writes, showing it to her.

“Oh, there’ll be no quiet now, will there?,” Ma Mary sighs. Erin underlines the request again. “I suppose. Keep your knickers on.”

Pleased, she silently sends out a thank you to whoever bestowed this upon her. Probably Clare.

***

A day of drifting in and out in a medicated haze passes quickly. Erin discovers new feelings often. There is ‘sort of nauseous but also starving and thinking about food which causes more nausea’, ‘tired but brain will not stop blathering about nothing’, and ‘hallucinating vaguely pink shape above head every hour’. She sleeps in short periods in a position that makes her neck sore, but it seems to do nothing to the deep exhaustion settled firmly in her bones.

She’s just woken up again, wondering what time it is, when the knock at the door startles her.

“Hello, Mrs. Quinn,” James’ voice sounds from the doorway. “I’ve brought Erin’s schoolwork.”

“Just you?,” her mother huffs. “Where’s the rest of ‘em?”

James’ answer is more of a murmur, but it’s clearly good enough because he’s let in. Granda Joe, from his usual chair, eyes him for a minute, then stands up and clasps his hand firmly. James nods, the confusion clear on his face.

Erin struggles up into a sitting position in her mountain of blankets that have been steadily building all day, mainly from Aunt Sarah insisting that she had to be freezing (she was, but that wasn’t really the point) and adding another blanket to it. 

“Hi,” James greets in that slightly anxious way he always has, now standing right in front of her. “Here’s the work, I know you were worried about getting behind. Also, I’m supposed to tell you,” he clears his throat and takes a note out of his pocket, “The choir sang Boyz II Men at assembly today. Also, Big Mandy tried to beat up her own sister. Michelle was very excited about that.”

Erin almost laughs but stops herself. She grabs for the chalkboard and writes,  _ I’ll Make Love To You? _

“Yeah. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that look on Sister Michael’s face.”

A real laugh finally manages to escape, quickly turning into a cough. Erin grimaces at the pain. 

“Sorry, I know that hurts.”

She tries her best to sign that it’s okay, then clears a spot for him to sit. 

_ Company _ , she jots, pointing at it. 

“I can stay for a bit, I guess. You’ve been alone all day?”

_ Only Ma and Aunt Sarah. Very loud. Had a headache since this morning. _

“Oh. I’m not making it worse, am I?” He’s clearly trying to make his voice softer.

_ No. Don't worry.  _ James sits next to her in the same spot as yesterday.

"Anything good on today?"

Erin gives him such an 'are-you-joking' look that he breaks out into a fit of anxious laughter. Anxiety seems to follow James like his shadow. (She found that metaphor in the big thesaurus at the library.)

"More shitty movies and whatever that is." He nods towards "lunch", or another wacko glass of mysterious liquid. "Living the dream?"

She smiles wryly and shrugs, one of her new ways to show she thought something was funny. The chalkboard is full of her scribbles, and she looks around for the eraser frantically until he produces a spiral notebook from somewhere and flips it open to a new page.

_ Liquid diet sucks. Family crazy. TV boring. Miss everyone. Throat hurts. _

"At least you're not bleeding?," James offers, patting her hand a few times in an attempt to be sympathetic. "And the book I read said you'll get sick less."

She nods listlessly.

"I know that doesn't help right now, but we'll visit you, and it's just two weeks. You'll be back listening to Jenny wail in no time."

Erin's mouth feels a little dry for some reason. Ma Mary bustles back in. "Erin, meds. And finish that glass!"

She rolls her eyes and pretends to gag. James laughs breathlessly. Another napkin of pills magically appears in front of her, as does Ma Mary.

"James, Deirdre called. She wants to know if you're coming home for dinner. You can stay if you like. Take them, Erin."

Sighing, she prepares to perform the cartoon snake maneuver. Without being asked, James carefully holds the pills so she can take them one by one. ''D'you want to be alone?," he asks her as she starts to rub her own throat like an idiot. "I can go home."

Erin shakes her head. She takes yet another pill.  _ Alone all day _ , she scrawls for him quickly.

“I know. I’m sorry we haven’t been by since the hospital, I just-I didn’t know what to say. I don’t think the others know either.” She tries to make an ‘it’s fine’ gesture. He seems to understand well enough because his shoulders relax a little. Ma Mary is now standing in front of them, waiting for an answer.

"I'll stay, if that's all right, Mrs. Quinn," says James politely. "We can work on the maths assignment." Erin supposes that out of the five of them, someone had to be civilized enough to deal with parents.

"Right then, I'll give Deirdre a ring back. Think we'll just get pizza. I'm done with being ordered around all day."

_ Ice? _ , Erin writes, showing it to her and erupting into silent laughter that ends in a painful cough.  _ Worth it, _ she writes in the notebook for him.

"You want ice?," he asks.

_ It's a joke, dose. _

"I've got to get better at telling when you're serious," he mutters to himself. 

_ Homework?,  _ she writes, pointing at the pile of papers. She can hear Aunt Sarah and Ma Mary in the kitchen whispering.

"Yeah, 'course. Can you look over my essay for history? I think I'm using 'era' too many times or something."

James continues talking. Erin swallows her last pill. The pain is the same, and the poor excuse for food still sucks. The loneliness, at least, is calm.

***

It is now Tuesday. Erin’s only been stuck at home for two entire days, and she’s already bored. She’s either spending time in her room by herself, or down on the couch listening to Granda Joe shout at Da and Ma shout at Aunt Sarah. 

Currently, though, she has the house to herself and finally there is blissful quiet. No more fussing from Anna, no more ridiculous name calling from the adults. She slumps into the couch and holds a washcloth full of ice cubes to the side of her throat. It’s painful. It hurts to swallow, or breathe too hard, and she’s been explicitly banned from talking for two entire weeks. 

All she can do is watch tv and sit. 

The door clicks open. The house is suddenly full of a pleasant kind of commotion. 

Michelle and Clare are having some kind of very loud dramatic argument that James is trying to settle, but neither of them are paying attention to him. Orla drifts over to the side and starts to unlace her sneakers. As they come in the house, James joins the argument, getting louder until Michelle swats him on the side.

“Erin!” Clare suddenly appears next to her and throws her arms around her. "You've recovered from your dying, then? We don't have the best track record with funerals, do we?".

"Hi." James, as usual a safe distance away so he doesn't get hit by any flying limbs, waves. Erin waves back, thrilled that they’ve come.

"So I figured nothing too crazy for your first hangout after your near-death experience," Michelle announces, spinning on her heel and walking backwards so she can see all of them. "Just ice cream. Don't want the zombie to get too tired."

Erin flips her off lazily, with no real heat behind it. She sits with Clare, exactly as it always is. 

"Big Mandy and her sister got into another fight yesterday. Apparently that's how they solve family issues. Neither one of 'em were mad about it. And Jenny’s worse than ever after her last detention because of the choir thing. Could’ve used you, I don’t know enough big words to fight her like that.”

Erin starts to try and snark back, and then she remembers the talking ban.

“Does it hurt?,” Clare asks pensively. It hadn’t been especially clear at the beginning, but now the edges of guilt are starting to show in all of them. The worry is evident on Michelle’s face as she teases her.

Erin nods. She points at the swelling, which is refusing to go down, and tries to mime the pain that comes from swallowing. She feels ridiculous.

“Does your jaw hurt any?,” James asks. “I read that could happen.”

She shakes her head exaggeratedly. Her board is gone, so Erin resorts to the stupid arm waving that makes her look like an air traffic controller. She presses a hand to her forehead and pretends to be burned, then shivers.

“Watch yourself! If you hit me, I’m gonna make you eat that blanket,” Michelle threatens. Frustrated, Erin folds her arms across her chest and sinks back into the couch.

“You’ve had a fever,” James translates. “Right?”   


Silence. Erin’s eyes go wide with excitement. She smiles as wide as she can and nods.

“Wee Jamesie comes through," Michelle crows. James' cheeks turn slightly pink. “And for fuck's sake, will the two of you just sit together? You speak crazy arm waving, dicko, and she looks sad."

James is pushed down the couch. She smugly takes his spot. 

“Oh, I’ve made you a schedule, Erin. So we can each visit you and you won’t get lonely, since you can’t come back to school for another week.” Clare holds up a garishly decorated piece of paper. “We’ve each taken a shift.”

Again, surprisingly touched, Erin smiles, close lipped, and nods, trying to convey the ‘thank you’ still dead in her vocal cords.

“I’ve managed to nick Fatal Attraction from Pirate Pauline. Movie night, motherfucker. And catch,” Michelle tosses her a pint of vanilla. “Dennis said to get well soon. Before he threw us out again.

Orla, fetching spoons from the kitchen, calls, “Leave the floor for me hi.”

Erin opens her mouth to speak, again out of habit, only to be elbowed sharply.

“For once, keep your mouth shut,” Michelle snaps. “You can survive for two fecking weeks without telling us exactly how ridiculous we are or quoting Keats or whatever the hell it is you talk about.”

Vaguely irritated, she gestures at her, trying to communicate something, but she doesn’t know what. It’s a feeling already distressingly familiar. Orla returns with the spoons and throws herself onto the floor in a sitting position. Clare settles on the end of the sofa, tucking her feet under her and rustling pages of her newest novel. Michelle doesn’t move from her spot, and James is next to her. Some ridiculously dramatic film continues to play on the TV. She digs into the ice cream and manages to swallow.

“You’ve missed so much already,” Clare bubbles. “I hope you’re staying up on your work, otherwise you’ll be so behind when you come back. And I know you don’t want that.”

She makes an incredulous face and holds up one finger.

“She’s only been gone one day,” James protests. “How much can happen?”

“Like Aunt Mary says, Rome was built in a day,” Orla interjects. “Anything can happen.”

Erin snags his notebook and pen from the table, flips it open to a blank page and scrawls,  _ Rome was conquered in a day _ . He reads it, lets out a short huff of laughter, and neatly takes the pen from her and writes,  _ It was. This movie is awful. _

She looks up just to see a woman in a very sheer slip fall to her knees in a rainstorm and bawl her eyes out. Orla eats another spoonful of mint chip, watching it mindlessly. Michelle makes a comment about her nipples showing.

_ This is dumb. Thanks. _

Clare, on her other side, tugs on her shirt and whispers, “I’m glad you’re okay.” Erin takes her hand and squeezes it. 

James’ reply is waiting for her.  _ You’re welcome.  _ Erin tries to eat a bit more. Now that it’s melted, it goes down easier.

***

The visiting schedule works out swimmingly. Erin isn’t lonely anymore. On Monday, Clare shows up with an old copy of Monopoly she claims to have dug out from the attic, and they happily play for over two hours with Orla. Granda Joe gives them half-serious tips from behind a newspaper, and he winks at her whenever she looks up. 

Tuesday is Orla’s day, and Erin has to admit she was slightly apprehensive about her cousin’s idea of fun. But instead of anything she was imagining, Orla holds her hair back when the nausea that’s been brewing for a few days spills over. She massages her temples a little until the headache subsides, and reads to her from  _ Great Expectations  _ softly until she drifts off to sleep.

Wednesday brings Michelle with an assortment of ‘borrowed’ movies. Erin laughs until her stomach hurts at her little comments about the ridiculously terrible acting and the illogical story. She conveniently brings an ‘extra’ mango smoothie, and the taste of something without artificial nutrients almost makes her cry. Michelle smoothly sweeps her hair up with a thick green scrunchie from her collection when she complains about being hot.

Thursday is James’ day. Not that it’s much different from every other day, because James has been by to drop off her schoolwork each day this week. He usually gets there right after whoever’s been visiting that day leaves. His steady tone is nice and the absence of ‘poor Erin’ in his voice is something she very much appreciates. When she talks to him, the chalkboard mostly sits abandoned in favor of what feels like a full conversation, even though only one of them is really talking.

James is excellent at reading her gestures. He’ll often get them the first time. Even Ma Mary usually has to guess a few times before she gets at exactly what Erin’s referring to. 

That day, they work through the English assignment. James reads the chapters of  _ Dubliners _ they’ve been assigned to read for the next week out loud carefully, and she transcribes their answers to the questions carefully. His handwriting is surprisingly awful, and she’s currently unable to speak, so they make up for each other. 

James carries on a conversation with Aunt Sarah about reading tea leaves effortlessly. He returns Da’s short, brusque nods of greeting. He doesn’t mention Anna’s shrieking or Ma Mary’s snapping at everyone. 

By the time he leaves, the English is done and they’re a good part of the way through the history work. Erin is content amid the chaos. Sometime during the visit, her migraine has finally subsided. 

***

It’s a little later in the evening on Friday. Erin’s a bit more mobile that day. She’s finally wearing real person clothes, not just random t-shirts and pajamas she finds that don’t take long to put on. Relishing the feeling of blue jeans, she’s waiting on the couch when James arrives at his usual time.

In their new typical routine, he drops the papers on the table, accepts the handshake from Granda Joe, waves at Aunt Sarah, and comes to sit in the usual spot. 

“Hi. All right?”

Erin nods enthusiastically.  _ Grade? _ , is scrawled on the chalkboard.

“I did well. Thanks for looking it over. Er, I had an idea for something to do. If you’re not opposed to it.” He nervously makes eye contact. Erin makes a ‘go on’ gesture.

“I’ve brought these,” he unearths a few tapes from his bag. “I thought we could watch this. You must be bored with everything.”

_ Doctor Who, The Complete Fourth Season,  _ reads the case on top.

“We don’t have to, obviously, it was just a thought.”

Rolling her eyes, Erin shakes one out of its case and pads over to the TV to put it on. She’s tired anyway, and desperate for entertainment. Tom and Jerry reruns are no longer interesting after several days.

"If you don't like it, we can just sit.. We don't have to-"

Erin vigorously erases the chalkboard and chalks  _ shhh I can't hear the creep show _ at him.

A blue telephone box spins into view. Some kind of creepy music plays. She turns to him and gestures like,  _ well? _

"You want me to explain it to you? Right. Um, so that's the doctor, with the scarf. He travels around in the blue box."

She nods studiously.

Ma Mary storms in, slamming a few cabinets. "Oh, goodness, I'm sorry, Erin. Hello, James. Is it your day?"

"Yes, Mrs. Quinn."

_ Ice? _ , he writes where only they can see it. She breaks into a smile and socks him lightly in the arm. She can’t laugh, and it sucks because she definitely would laugh at that. James is funny.

Smirking, she turns back to the television to see the scarf man fight off a monster definitely not based off dinosaurs. The blonde woman with him shoots a beam of energy at them.

"That's his companion. She's usually human. This season she is."

Somehow the ridiculous creep show is nice. It's mindless enough where she can let her brain shut off a little but it's not yet another rerun.

James is animatedly explaining the difference between some kind of a screwdriver and something else she's missed. She leans back and smiles slightly as he continues to talk. She’ll pay attention for him, just like how he had listened the other day when she had silently ranted about how wonderfully ridiculous and maddening the Jeeves novels are. He looks so happy. She likes that.

"Last round for tonight." The pills are deposited into her lap. James seamlessly picks them up so she can take them one at a time and continues to ramble. Erin performs the cartoon snake maneuver. She's gotten much faster at it, now that the swelling's gone down.

"Make sure she takes them all, mind.” He nods. Erin rolls her eyes.

The fantasy war rages on. She writes out a few little quips on the board for him, because sick or not, the urge to slag him off a little is undeniable. He leans over a little to see it each time, until they're sitting on almost the same cushion. Once again, he's warm.

As is the case with evening meds, she starts to feel the fuzzy tinges of sleep creeping in. She pokes him in the shoulder and makes a dumb face. James keeps talking about the concept of time and aging. 

She means to hold off the exhaustion as long as she can, because it seems rather rude to fall asleep when someone is over. But before long, the pain meds combined with the hum of the TV and James sitting warm and solid next to her win out. Erin sighs and gives in to the lapping waves of sleep.

***

The voices work their way into her dream.

A voice that sounds like Ma Mary. “She fell asleep?”

“I don’t want to wake her,” another voice responds. It’s very close to her. “She must be exhausted.”

“She hasn’t slept like this in over a week. It’s been restless.”

"I can go if that would-"

"If you don't mind letting her sleep, I'm not going to fiddle with it. I'll call Deirdre."

"If it's helping."

They fade away. Erin falls back into the lovely darkness of sleep.

***

Erin resurfaces slowly. She teeters on the edge of sleep for a few minutes. Or it could be a few hours. 

Her neck is in an odd position. She realizes she’s fallen asleep on someone's shoulder. The television is blinking static. It’s dark outside. The table lamp is dimly on.

“Hi.” 

Erin starts. She turns to find James blinking owlishly at her. 

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You were out for a while.”

It’s like time freezes for a minute. Her drowsy blinking slows. He's looking down at her slightly, enough to make his eyes catch the light. They're a warm amber.

Oh, Erin thinks.  _ Oh. _

Feeling her face absolutely burning, she taps at an invisible watch. 

"What time is it? 'S late. Your Ma didn't want to wake you."

She's practically in his lap. His arm is thrown over her shoulder. Erin is having a crisis.

But he is incredibly warm, and the bone-deep exhaustion is making its presence clear once again. Maybe the personal crisis can wait. It definitely can wait until tomorrow, when she can scream into her pillow and stare at the ceiling.

Erin settles her head firmly back on James' shoulder. He doesn't say anything about it. Before long, the waves of sleep return. 

***

With the promise to be as careful as possible, Erin's school privileges have been, at last, returned. After being bundled in several layers and a thick scarf to hide the rest of the swelling, she's finally heading outside with Orla. The fresh air is wonderful and she breathes as deep as she can without too much pain.

"Erin!" Clare hurtles her way into her arms. "You're back!". 

She returns the embrace, realizing that once again they are a man down. She signals ‘4’ to them, a questioning look on her face.

“Ball ache got himself suspended,” Michelle scoffs. “Get that. Teacher’s pet James somehow managed to get himself suspended.” Clare releases her. 

Across the street, David Donnelly puts up more band posters. He catches sight of them and turns on his heel, walking towards them.

“All right, Erin?,” he nods. “How’s your throat?”

The nerves that usually come with seeing David are much less severe, something she can attribute to the tired feeling still clinging to her. She shrugs and makes a ‘so-so’ gesture. He nods.

"Hi," he tosses at Orla, who looks sort of okay with the whole situation. "See you next weekend." 

"Karaoke," Orla explains dreamily as he heads back across the street. "I do a brilliant Cher. His Sonny's not the best, but it goes." Nobody comments on that.

Erin is sandwiched between Michelle and Clare on the bus, both of them eager to fill her in on the goings on from their lives and the gossip from school, and Orla jumps in from behind from time to time. The air is full of pleasant chatter and the occasional loud exclamation. It's lovely.

"So you really don't know how he got suspended?"  Clare stares anxiously at Michelle.

"Look, I already told you. He wouldn't tell me. Think he's embarrassed it happened. We'll find out soon enough."

The buzz picks back up. Erin stares out the windshield and finds herself acutely missing a steady presence next to her.

***

_ "Erin Quinn, please report to Sister Michael's office immediately. Erin Quinn, Sister Michael's office." _

"Are you in trouble already?," Michelle scoffs, staring at her incredulously. "You've been spending too much time with James."

Jenny Joyce and her cronies stalk by. Erin braces herself, fully expecting some kind of a taunt about her throat or maybe a thinly veiled insult, but instead, Jenny lets out a "hmph" and flounces away, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“To fuck, has everyone gone off the rails today?,” she continues. “First David Donnelly actually speaks to you like a normal person, and now Jenny had a chance to slag you off and she didn’t! The world’s gone mad!”

Erin starts down the hall to Sister Michael's office, waving to them so they know where she's headed. She’s a little pleased to get away from the endless tirade.

"Come in," comes the response when she lightly knocks on the door.

"Erin. How are you?"

Sister Michael, sitting in her normal position and staring directly at her, gestures to the comfy chair next to her desk. It's practically unheard of to be allowed to sit in the comfy chair. She basks in the special privilege, firmly dropping into it.

Remembering the question she'd been asked, Erin makes a 'so-so' gesture with her hand, hoping she understands.

"I understand you've been keeping up well with your work. I haven't heard any complaints from your teachers, so good on you for that. Now, I have asked them to give you a break for the rest of this week, given that you will not be able to speak for the next few days or so. This is not an invitation to slack. Do you understand?"

Hardly believing her luck, Erin gives her a thumbs up sign. She's thrilled. Softness or leniency from the school, especially Sister Michael, is literally unheard of.

"And one more thing. I trust your companions have informed you of the incident that occurred yesterday."

The incident. It doesn't ring any bells. Erin decides to play smart and pretend that she knows exactly what she's referring to.

"I'm sure you understand why we had to suspend James. Had to draw a line under it somehow. That doesn't excuse Jenny's behavior at all, but you needn't worry. After yesterday, I doubt she'll be bothering you anytime soon."

Now this is really confusing. But she's painted herself into a corner, so she pastes a calm smile on her face and nods again, picking up her backpack and getting ready to beat a hasty retreat.

"Oh, and Erin?" She turns back to face Sister Michael.

"Mr. McGuire has been very...attentive throughout this entire ordeal. He’s been quite concerned about you."

Erin considers the thought and makes an 'I agree face', not daring to resort to the godforsaken thumbs up sign once again. 

“I just thought you might want to know. He’s been, shall we say, very worried in your absence.”

She nods again, confused about why this has come up. The conversation lapses into silence. Sister Michael stares at her for a moment.

“All right, that’s all. Back to class. Thank you, Ms. Quinn.”

Erin does her best to communicate the same. As she walks out, she catches Sister Michael pressing her hand to her head. She thinks she hears her whisper, “kids these days.”

***

After school, they both end up back at her house, even though he doesn't have the homework excuse anymore. Erin fills him in on everything from the day, excluding her visit to Sister Michael and David Donnelly's apparent thing for Orla (which isn't that surprising when she actually thinks about it). With that, they start on English again. It's been almost two weeks.

Erin swallows hard and listens to him read the chapter. She tries not to think about when it ends.

***

Erin can't deny she's surprised when she opens the door to find Michelle standing outside.

Michelle shoulders her way in and heads to the kitchen.

"Um, hello," she says pointedly, still quiet.

"I brought you food. 'Cause you can eat solid stuff now. Right? James said you could."

"I can, but I was worried about how I'd react to-is that Fionnula's?"

"Fuck yeah it is," Michelle grins. "Who's the best?"

"You are, duh." Erin takes a bite of a chip and nearly cries over how good it is. Salty. Crispy. No pain in swallowing. Brilliant.

"You're talkin' again!"

"Aye. Today's the day. It doesn't hurt anymore. This is the best thing I've ever tasted, Michelle. I owe you so hard."

"Did you know James wants to ride you?"

Erin chokes. She coughs several times, each scarier sounding than the last. Michelle pounds her on the back. She chugs half a glass of water before it subsides.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"You heard me. Do you?"

Erin considers Michelle's face. Her raised eyebrow. Her smirk. All of those only point to one thing. Michelle is serious. Like deadly serious.

"What? James? No! No, that's ridiculous. He doesn’t want to-" Michelle shoves another chip into her mouth and shushes her.

"Shhhh. You sit and enjoy that. My turn to monologue. This is right exciting. Is this how you feel all the time?"

Erin sulkily reaches for a piece of white fish and chews. She makes the 'go on' gesture.

"Whatever. It is class, though. Do you know why James got suspended?"

She shakes her head no.

"Neither did I, until I squeezed it out of him yesterday. He got suspended for shouting at Jenny Joyce."

Erin flashes back to her meeting with Sister Michael, remembering the mention of Jenny not bothering her anymore.

"And do you know why he was shouting at Jenny Joyce?," Michelle continues smugly. "Simple. She said you looked like a turkey with the swelling on your neck. And she was making fun of your poetry."

Erin shrugs. "So?"

"To fuck, you're dense. James has never failed a test or missed a homework assignment in his entire life. He prides himself on his perfect attendance and before this I thought he'd have a heart attack if he ever got in real trouble. And all it took for him to throw his perfect record out the window was for Jenny to say something shitty about you."

"So?," she objects, kind of childishly. "You all would do the same for me. That's nothing."

"Not to James it isn't. Haven’t you heard him talk about school? Such a dick.”

Erin rolls her eyes. “Sure. So he told Jenny where to stick it. But you’ve done that. So’s Clare. He’s not special. Stop trying to make up something that isn’t there. He’s my friend, and he was so kind to translate for me because you lot weren’t patient enough.”

Michelle scoffs. “Oh please, You don’t really think he was just magically an expert at understanding your crazy arm-waving shit, do you?”

Dumbfounded, she stares at her. 

“Oh, you did. Well. I can tell you, he didn’t. He studied for that. Got like, five books from the library about mutism and acting. Read them all weekend. He researched the hell out of tonsillitis too. All the side effects and gory details. Made me want to boke.”

“Okay, well, Clare probably researched too,” she deflects, not really understanding why she’s arguing but feeling like she should for some reason.

“Clare didn’t come over every day because she was worried about you. Clare didn’t let you sleep for eight hours on her shoulder. Clare didn’t share her best-loved thing in the world with you. D’you know he hasn’t even shown me any of his Doctor Who shit? And I live with him. All him. Well, except the chalkboard. That was Clare. Mostly out of guilt."

“That’s a bit mean to James, don’t you think?,” she scolds, now feeling a little affronted on James’ part and also hoping to distract from the blush gathering in her face. “Telling me his secret. What kind of a cousin are you anyways?”

“You really had no idea, didn’t you?,” Michelle says, rolling her eyes. “You said one time that everyone here knows everything about everyone. Literally everyone already knows. David Donnelly knows, Sister Michael knows, your Ma knows, my Ma knows. It’s disgustingly obvious. Everyone can see it.”

Stunned, Erin stares at her. “Why are you telling me?”

“Cause you deserve to know,” Michelle says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I told him he should tell you, but he was all “she doesn’t want that, she doesn’t feel that way, I was just trying to be there for her”. You know. All noble and shit. Me, I think you do feel that way. You just take time to process.”

“Okay, well, why now? It’s not like you to hold onto something like this.”

“Because you’re you,” she says matter-of-factly.”If I had told you this three fuckin’ months ago, you would’ve had a cack attack. I know you, Erin. You flipped because Clare told you she was a lezzer. You hate change. It’s not bad, it’s just you. If I’d have been all, “James likes you” then, you would have lost it and you’d have been so awkward.”

Erin knows it’s true. She thinks she should feel a little insulted on how well Michelle knows her. She thinks two months ago Erin would have been hurt by it. Instead, she just feels a warm tinge of appreciation for Michelle understanding her like that. For considering her feelings. For protecting her.

God, she has to get off the pain meds. They make her way too emotional.

“It’s not like you’re marrying him or anything. It doesn’t have to be that serious or that complicated. Jesus, I’ve got to do everything around here!,” Michelle complains. “Just-sort it out, will you? If you hurt him, family rules dictate I’ve got to hurt you as well, and that’ll be weird.”

“I’ll sort it out, I promise. Are we good?”

“Enough serious shite. You’ll never guess who Charlene’s set her sights on now,” Michelle crows. 

Erin sets the James thing aside for more consideration (a weird habit she's gotten into) and gets ready for some good old-fashioned gossip. It’s just what she needs.

***

**Excerpt from Erin’s Newest Diary (AKA The One Orla Has Yet To Find Because It Is Hidden Under a Floorboard), page 29**

Why I Maybe Sort of Kind of Fancy James

-kind

-listens to me, not just pretending like Michelle and Clare do

-nice to talk to, good voice

-good dancer

-(in confidence) a wee bit of a ride

-Granda Joe likes him

-smart

-good at reading, holding hands, and talking to Aunt Sarah

-doesn’t mind me or anything I do

-good person to stand near when it gets loud and overwhelming

Why I Definitely Do Not Fancy James

-English

-can sort of be a dick sometimes

-likes dumb music

-scared he’ll hurt me

-scared I’ll hurt him

-scared of screwing up in general

***

Erin considers the list for two more days. She spends a very long time each night staring at the ceiling and thinking. 

She decides, eventually, that Michelle is probably right. Not that she'll ever tell her.

***

Friday night, she and Orla walk down to meet the others. There's a perfect spring chill in the air. The rain had stopped just in time, leaving the ivy green and the grass all dewy. 

Erin grins openly, finally recognizing the warm rush gathering in her chest. It’s so different from all the other times she’s liked someone, and it's welcome. It feels dizzying and scary and too much and not enough at the same time. 

Clare and Michelle, walking almost on top of each other, are arguing loudly once again. Orla follows closely behind, twisting a ring on her pointer finger and vaguely tossing in a point or two. Erin falls into step alongside James.

"Hi," she says softly. 

"You can talk again!," he grins. “You-you don’t have to stand with me now."

“I know,” she shrugs as they turn down onto the main street. 

“Why are you, then?” James’ shoulders are kind of slumped in a sad way.

Erin takes a deep breath and carefully slips her hand into his, winding their fingers together. She steps a little closer.  The slight blush on his cheeks is visible even in the setting sun. 

“Michelle, would you shut it! Reading is a perfectly acceptable hobby, and it’s not for old people!”

“Sure, Granny.”

Clare’s shouts of indignation continue. Erin rolls her eyes and gets ready to referee the newest  ~~ mating ritual ~~ petty argument. Orla spots David and waves hello. He looks almost shy.

James holds fast to her hand. He’s steady next to her, grounding her through the chaos even as he rolls his eyes at Michelle's newest insult. Erin holds on just as tight.

**Author's Note:**

> Come bother me on Tumblr (thegirlwiththeglasses-3). Comments and kudos are always much appreciated. Much love, stay healthy and well, whatever that looks like for you. :)


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